I see the slap coming and do nothing to stop the blow. She puts enough force in it to turn my head. “Shut. Up.”
She goes for another strike, but I catch her wrist. “No safe words with him, Jasmine. No way out.”
“You’re putting me in a cage. Don’t act like I’m better off here.”
It stings, even as I tell myself there’s no reason for it to. I’m hardly an altruistic man. I may have changed my plan when news of the merger came through, but I always intended to take everything from Balthazar. The man is as much a monster as Ali is and, more unforgivably, he’s bad at business. There’s no reason he shouldn’t own double the territory in Carver City that he does currently, but he’s been too focused with petty bullshit to realize his potential.
That’s fine.
His loss is my gain.
I study her. She’s fucking exhausted. We could stand here and yell at each other all night, but it won’t accomplish a damn thing. Taking Jasmine in the hallway of her father’s home was an impulse I should have been able to deny, but she’s always played fast and loose with my control. I handled it up to this point because the end game was more important than wanting to sink my cock into that tight little pussy while she went for my throat.
Now I get to have my cake and eat it, and I’m not even a little bit sorry about how things have played out.
“We’ll fight about it tomorrow.”
“I don’t want anything of yours. I sure as hell don’t want your charity.” Jasmine unbuttons my shirt with shaking hands. A shrug of her shoulders and it’s on the floor, leaving her gloriously, defiantly naked. She lifts her chin and stares me down. “You want a kept pet. Let’s not pretty it up with whatever you had planned to keep me docile.”
“Docile?” I shake my head and move toward her slowly, enjoying the exact moment she realized she miscalculated. A flash of something that isn’t quite fear. Another woman would take that moment to backtrack, to try another angle. Not Jasmine. She all but shoots fire out of her eyes, as if she believes if she put enough anger and will behind it, she’ll burn me to a crisp.
I sift my fingers through her hair and twisted it around my hand until I force her head back. I lean down, careful not to touch her anywhere but her hair. “You’re about as docile as a rabid tiger.”
“Then you’re the fool who trapped that tiger in your home.”
I don’t bother to argue. She’s right. Every little piece of my life is carefully calculated. It always has been. A man does not rise as far or as fast as I have by letting his baser instincts rise to the fore.
And yet, I want her.
I wanted her the moment I laid eyes on her five years ago, when I was first brought into Balthazar’s operation. Twenty years old and as bold and beautiful as the flower she’s named after. I knew better than to touch her then, no matter how much I enjoyed our verbal sparring sessions, no matter how often I read the invitation in her eyes.
She’s shaking, and I’m not fool enough to think it’s from desire. She’s exhausted and beneath that mountain of anger is fear.
I force myself to move back, to release her. She’s here, and that’s enough for now. Jasmine’s shaky exhale just confirms it was the right choice to make. I head toward the hallway. “This way.”
“I really, really hate you right now.”
I ignore that and walk deeper into the penthouse. Several seconds later, the sound of her footsteps padding after me make me smile. Even when she’s fighting me tooth and nail, there’s a core of submissiveness there that draws me, a moth to flame. Being burned to death isn’t on the agenda. I’m in control, and the sooner she learns that, the smoother this will go.
The spare bedroom is rarely used. I’m not in the habit of allowing people into my home, let alone inviting them to stay for any length of time. When I fuck, I do it at the club. It saves me the trouble of anyone getting the wrong idea.
It’s as neutral as the rest of my home. Clean lines, stark colors. The order of it soothes me. I hold open the door and stand aside, watching her expression as she takes the space in.
A small line appears between her strong brows. “What do you have against color, Jafar?”
“It’s messy.”
She arches an eyebrow, apparently forgetting that she’s naked in my home. “Messy,” Jasmine repeats. “You think color is messy.” She shakes her hand and moves forward to investigate.
From tigress to curious kitten. All she needed was something to explore. I file away that information for later and content myself with watching her move through the room. She runs her hand over the comforter, testing its softness, and walks to poke her head into the walk-in closet.